Russia vs. Adam Smith, Karl Marx, and Thomas Paine

'All that glitters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life has sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold'

What is value? It's clearly not from the usefulness of an item, otherwise water would be much more expensive than diamonds. Karl Marx claimed that value stemmed from the 'only thing common' to all commodities-the labor that goes into producing them. Adam Smith claimed that value stemmed from whatever people demanded of that commodity (scarcity). The latter theory is currently winning in most economist's minds as the more likely source of value. Yet, here in Moscow, there are price discrepancies that seem to defy either of those claims.

Diary of a Madman...a different madman. this one's about Gogol.

On Saturday I went to my first Russian play (I've been to a few in Ukraine), appropriately it was written by Gogol (a Ukrainian). If you've never read anything of Gogol, you really ought to. His stuff is very bizarre, but in an absolutely delightful way. The story of the play is that of the slow descent into madness of a low ranking official in St. Petersburg after he falls for a girl who barely knows he exists. The only way he is able to find greatness in life is through his delusional fantasies of becoming the king of Spain. I certainly can't relate to that even a little bit (quiet Drinky, you'll spoil everything! (that was an inside joke, if you're lucky, someday I'll let you in on it).

The television, that insidious beast, that Medusa which freezes a billion people to stone every night, staring fixedly, that Siren which called and sang and promised so much and gave, after all, so little. -Ray Bradbury

I was raised by two loving parents and an equally loving glowing box. It's not that my parents loved the idea of us watching a lot of tv, they just didn't have a chance. Picture the average night at the Carr residence: We've just arrived home from school, and Dad doesn't get home for another few hours. No matter how wily mom is, she's lost the fight already. We've got numbers on our side, and we know it. She might be able to keep a few of us in line doing homework, cleaning whatever crazy mess we've made around the house, maybe even fit in a tender parenting moment or two. But that leaves the rest of us little rapscallions free to wallow in the warm embrace of the television...teacher, mother, secret lover (The Simpsons). Don't get me wrong, I don't really watch all that much tv, maybe a couple of hours a week, but if you add that up over 52 weeks in a year and 26 years...well, you get the picture.

Ты неси меня река...

Another soundtrack post: 

The train creeps along the frozen Russian steppe. Peering through the window glistening with frost, I see a thick fog creeping at the base of the snow covered trees. I've gotten in the habit of picking a new book for each of my little trips and trying to finish it before the time is up. This time I was in a hurry and grabbed the first book on the 100 ruble shelf at Biblio Globus (a GIANT bookstore here that I love perusing)...this time it's the book Кому на руси жить хорошо (who lives well in Rus) by Nekrasov. Well, I think I bit off more than I can chew this time, it's poetry from the 19th century about the Russian peasantry. After about 100 pages I gave up, and started a conversation with the elderly gentleman sitting next to me, who ended up being much more interesting. Having moved to Siberia in the early 70's, Vladimir is a classic Russian muzhik with a barrel chest (and gut), gold teeth, and a handshake that tells of strength that was once there. This is his first trip outside of what is now Russia, so I help him fill out his border papers. 

Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known- Milne

3 am—the two smoke alarms in my apartment blink a second apart, and it’s driving me insane. I haven’t ever had insomnia before, but for the past few weeks I can’t seem to get more than 4-5 hours of sleep a night. I’m really not sure this existential crisis has surfaced now, but I can’t stop thinking of what I’ll do in 5 months once my program ends. I could end up in any number of cities, doing any number of things. For the purposes of this post though, this insomnia has taken me on a bit of an existentialist’s treasure hunt.

A while ago, when I was about to set off for Russia, my roommate Ben casually mentioned that I reminded him of Rabbit of Pooh’s Corner. He was referring to the book ‘The Tao of Pooh,’ and said I was bustling off here and there looking for something I thought would calm whatever fire under my feet that wouldn’t let me stand still. Well, late one night last week I finally decided to find out what Ben was talking about. The book has been delightful, and I think wise old Ben had some justification all those year-and-a-half ago. I won’t spoil the read for you, but it’s been a great self-reflection experience for this rabbit who’s trying to be clever for the sake of being clever.

Now I’d like to introduce you to my newest English student, Yasya. Her infectious happiness is at a peak when she’s playing with dolls, singing, playing the piano, practicing English and Chinese, or wrestling with her tiny dog, Liza. Yasya also happens to be blind. After every lesson, I am more amazed by this talented little girl, and I always walk into the freezing cold night smiling. I can’t help but think of her when I read Viktor Frankl’s, ‘Everything can be taken from a man but one thing, the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.’

Here’s for choosing a more relaxed attitude toward life. To believing that things just may work out if I let them. And more importantly, here’s to a full night’s sleep.